A Familiar Stranger
by Anybodys
Summary: He was just a copy. She hated him.


It was silly how such a simple invention held such complex symbolism. Just fabric on top of other various materials on top of wood just for a person to rest, troubles disappearing as if it were a magic trick for just a few hours. Occasionally there'd be an unfortunate soul haunted by the depths of their mind as they slept, proving no security from the troubles that plagued them by day.

Beds, such an easy design, held such heavy connections: protection, love, laughter; heartbreak, loss, trauma. Lust and innocence both mingled within sheets, a collection of memories and emotions caught in the bedspreads. It was almost like a brilliant example of humankind itself, in all it's chaos and glory.

It was in her bed when her mind wandered to extremities and rambled about objects and gestures of no values. From the rainbow of hues at dusk to the dark, concealing blue of dawn her thoughts were set loose, roaming silently as she fingered her sheets and observed thing idly. The things she came up with she kept to herself, as private and raw as they were. They were nonsense, some fiction she had concocted or irrational belief she had looked much too into. One such subject was beds.

It had been months since Norway. It had been even longer since she lost her ability to feel for anything but the memories of him, something she tried to repress in that terrible time in between. She had tried moving on, smiling and laughing at moments and acting as if she couldn't remember the time she was given the chance to see all the stars, but it was in the privacy of her bed sheets where she fell apart. Maybe it wasn't good to pretend he was just some fairy tale, no matter how many times she wished that's all he really was. He wasn't a story or some fantastic fantasy. He was as real as the pain that stabbed her heart and as tangible as the tears that dampened her pajamas. In this universe he might as be as good as some child's lullaby, but in another he was vivid and alive, holding the ends of the space and time together as best as he could.

It had taken some time to get used to his presence next to her. She would wake up in the early hours of the morning, his face the first thing coming into her view. He would breathe softly as she studied every detail in his face: the creases of his forehead, the way his eyelashes fluttered, the build of his nose, the way his chin curved. She often felt the urge to reach out and run her fingertips down his face to remind herself that he was real, just like she had told herself every night when they were separated.

He was as beautiful and brilliant as before. His touch was gentle and comforting, eyes smooth and understanding. In times of happiness his voice would be bubbly and vibrant, while in times of fragility it would be soft and consoling. He managed to be strong for her, arms open and ready when she was ready to come to him. It was hard to believe he wasn't a character in her own mind's flights when the man she had tried so hard to grasp on to as real was still out there, flying in a different reality. Although she felt betrayed after being replaced so quickly and being left behind again, there was that ache in her that cried for him. This cheap knock-off wasn't him, and no matter how hard the copy tried, she couldn't accept it.

It had been so long before she finally came to terms with the fact he wasn't ever coming back. When that piece of reality sunk in, she went running to the duplicate, collapsing in his arms as she fell completely apart. The event marked the beginning of something she was almost unaware of, leading them to sharing a bed in a flat they lived in together.

She felt like a traitor for enjoying the feel of his lips running across her jaw and sucking at her neck. She felt guilty as she surrendered into his silky whispers of romantic adoration. She felt as if she should be convicted of trembling as he caressed her cheek with the palm of his hand, slowly and intimately. But maybe it was a good thing that she allowed herself to be with him in darkness, only the outline of his body visible as he lowered himself onto her, lips kissing her jaw roughly as she moaned for him. Maybe it was okay to law next to him, bare skin touching bare skin while the sound of their hearts beating filled the room. Maybe it was alright to melt at his touch and breath, "I love you" over and over.

Maybe that's what both of them had really wanted.

She couldn't muster the strength to look back at the alarm clock resting beside the bed on a mahogany side table. Judging by the moonlight that filtered in through her window, she knew it must be the early morning.

His back was turned to her, blankets low enough to show his bare shoulders. The sound of his breathing was the loudest thing in the room; even then, it barely broke the silence. Her mind raced as it normally did, forming a full analysis on beds as she noticed the freckles splotched across his back. They were barely visible, but they were there, like little droplets of sienna and caramel paint dripped across his shoulder blades.

It was interesting to capture all the details that made him who he was. The same freckles could be found splayed across his nose, just barely. She noticed the way his hair seemed to take a life of its own, pointing each and every way during his slumber, free from the excessive amount of product he put in it. There were streaks of a very light, sandy brown that mingled with the rest of his hair, just one among many other hues. She noticed the way his lips were built as he turned around. They were skinny but moist, looking surprisingly soft after all those years in time and space. She had the sudden craving to feel them against hers, gentle and warm, wanting to be loved.

The thoughts were shooed away as she remembered how strange it was to think he was lying next to her. Hesitantly she brushed her hand against his cheek. His body shifted at her touch, but he remained asleep. It was almost surreal to touch him although he had been sharing her bed for a few weeks already. Intoxicated by the thought of feeling him and he feeling her, she ran her fingertips through the very top of his hair. It tickled her as she brushed them through, but it was a magnificent texture to touch.

She took her hand away, pulling it back slowly as she stared at his face. He was a stranger to her. She didn't know why he was in her bed or why he would catch her from behind and run his lips hungrily down her neck. She didn't know why he whispered romantic thoughts into her ear and held her tightly to his chest as she broke, protecting her from the nastiness of the world around them. He was nothing but a foreigner with a face that reminded her of somebody so long ago, when she was innocent and naive.

Suddenly she was staring into coffee irises. All the ideas clashing in her head froze as the eyes focused on her, alert for just opening. His lips twitched, almost looking amused, as if he knew how she hated him for wanting to love him. The silence was heavy. Words that wouldn't come out rested on her lips, weighting them and make it even harder to speak. It felt like hours before he reached out and stroked her hair back behind her ear.

She hated it. He shouldn't touch her. He wasn't the man she ached for for months.

"What are you doing awake?" His voice was quiet and gentle. The silkiness of it seemed a bit odd after he had just woken up.

"Can't sleep I guess," she said, words jumbling together. "Have... have you been awake?"

He nodded, eyes glimmering for a moment. It figured.

"You felt me touch you?"

He nodded once more. "Your hands are soft."

She hated him. He was a cheap imitation of the man she wasted so many tears over.

Exhaling, she closed her eyes. The bed creaked a moment later, followed by a warm arm surrounding her shoulders. Her heart fluttered as her head nuzzled against his chest, his heart beating faintly in her ears. She relaxed, wishing to be closer to him as he pressed his lips lightly to the top of her head. He whispered something she couldn't decipher, yet she understood.

I love you.

She hated everything that made him. He was trying to replace and make her forget about the man that had shown her a universe she could have never imagined.

And she had fallen for it.

Her eyes clenched together tightly as she fought the urge to cry again, her fingers balling up into fists. The story had ended with her sleeping in the arms of a duplicate of the man who had betrayed her. She had bought all his lies, holding them to her heart as if they really meant something. They were paper promises, easily blown away by the wind, just like him. He left, leaving her with the stranger holding her right now, as if nothing had ever happened. All the hell she had been through didn't matter to him. He dropped her off at the same place her heart had broken before, leaving her to wonder what she had done to deserve such a punishment.

But through it all, the worst part was she had fallen in love with both of them.

It was the tragedy of the Doctor and his lovely, lost Rose.


End file.
